


SURRENDER

by rubyelf



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Interspecies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the party's discouraging defeat on Caradhras, Boromir recognizes the Fellowship's wariness and their fear of his betrayal. Only two of them still have faith in him... and want him to know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SURRENDER

Caradhras had been merciless, and the notorious Redhorn Pass had lived up to its treacherous reputation. As the snow had piled relentlessly around them, Boromir had overheard fragments of discussion between Aragorn and Gandalf, debating whether the wizard Saruman’s reach had truly grown long enough to block their path this way, or whether the ancient evils awakened beneath these mountains still sought to trouble those seeking passage.

The retreat had been almost has harsh and exhausting as the climb, for by this time the four little ones were nearly frozen through, and it was up to the two men to bear their weight while trying to plow ahead through the heavy snow. Boromir had forged the way ahead, angry with the mountain and angry at their surrender, and letting his rage be the fuel that drove him forward through the snow. His arms were numb and heavy as lead after carrying the little ones for so long, but he could feel them both shivering in the bitter cold, and he was determined that at least he would get them safely off the mountain, regardless of what happened to him.

He little knew, or cared, what happened to him by this point. He’d had the Ring in his hand, felt its power racing through him, promising everything, but he’d also seen Aragorn’s hand move to the hilt of his sword, seen Gandalf’s eyes darken like the storm-wracked sky overhead, seen the blank fear in Frodo’s face and the angry suspicion in Sam’s. He had known then that they were on guard against him, afraid that he would succumb to the Ring, or worse, that he already had. They expected him to betray them.

The only two who had never looked at him with anything but trust were the two bundled under his cloak as he struggled through the snow, and he had no intention of failing them, regardless of what happened to the others, or to him.

Now, in a low cave under the rocks of the mountain, a fire burned to fight the chill, but they were safe for the moment, below the snow line and the storms and Caradhras’ wrath. Aragorn and Gandalf sat in a corner of the cave with the elf and the dwarf, talking quietly amongst themselves. Sam had busied himself with putting together a stew to warm them, while Frodo slept curled in his bedroll by the fire. Boromir had dragged himself off into the far corner, soaked and exhausted and beyond caring, but not before he made sure that the little ones were warm and safe, wrapped in blankets and huddled next to the flames.

He had just begun to let his eyes drift closed, and to let his consciousness wander, when he heard voices, soft and very close.

“We’ve got to get him dry, at least, or he’ll freeze,” Merry was saying.

“Did Strider say…” Pippin asked, but Merry silenced him.

“Strider is busy,” he said firmly. “Come, Pip… help me with his boots.”

Boromir lay still, allowing the two hobbits to pull off his ice-encrusted boots and set them aside, followed by his soaked socks. A few minutes later, he felt something very warm being placed against each foot, and he looked up, puzzled.

Merry smiled up at him. “Just some hot rocks from the fire, wrapped up in cloth. Your feet are colder than the snow.”

“And they’re quite small, for such a big person,” Pippin observed.

Boromir chuckled and laid his head back wearily. In short order his feet and his legs were covered with a blanket, and little hands had begun working busily at the ties of his wet, heavy tunic. He allowed them to struggle for a moment to get it off before sitting half upright and pulling it over his head, along with his soaked undershirt. Pippin hurried off to put these by the fire, while Merry carefully tucked another blanket over the man. As soon as Pippin had returned, the two sat back and looked him over.

“What are you up to, little ones?” he asked.

Merry glanced at Pippin, who nodded in agreement, and in a moment both of them had stripped off their own wet clothes, leaving only their undergarments, and had clambered under the blankets with him, one on each side.

“Hey, there!” he protested.

“Hush,” Merry said.

“We’re helping you,” Pippin said quietly. “Like you helped us. You saved us. You must let us at least help you.”

“He’s right,” Merry said. “It would be very poor manners for us to just leave you over here to freeze after all you’ve done for us.”

“Perhaps it would be kinder to leave me to freeze,” Boromir muttered.

He could almost feel the two hobbits exchange glances across his body, even though he had closed his eyes.

“It would _not_ ,” Merry said sternly.

Boromir sighed. The two little bodies, which had been sitting by the flames, were warm against his bare sides, and the warm little hands rubbing over his chest seemed to gradually help ease the chill that had gripped his body. After some time, he realized that there was a curly head resting on each of his shoulders, but he was too sleepy and warm to protest, and the closer they wrapped themselves around him, the more he felt the retreat not only of the cold, but of the bitterness and anger he had carried off the mountain.

“That’s good,” Merry murmured.

“He’s much warmer now,” Pippin said.

Merry nodded. “I think we ought to stay with him, though.”

“Of course we ought to!”

They nestled in closer, and Boromir felt Merry reach across him to grab Pippin’s hand and squeeze it.

“Are all hobbits as affectionate as you two?” he asked.

“Hobbits are happy to share their affection with people they care for,” Merry said.

Boromir opened one eye and glanced down at the older hobbit, who returned his gaze with a frank stare.

“I think perhaps you share more than just affection with your little cousin.”

Pippin squeaked, but Merry patted his hand. “Shh, Pip. Boromir is our friend.”

Boromir yawned, warmth finally finding even the last chilled parts of him, and his mind began to drift. He found himself thinking about the two hobbits, and unbidden and unexpected thoughts began to float through his head: thoughts of the two of them wrapped up in a large cozy bed together, of the soft sounds and murmured endearments, of Merry’s always-protective gaze fixed on his cousin, while Pippin stared up at him with those green eyes that always lit like fireflies when they fell on Merry’s face. The man jerked himself awake, shaking off the thoughts with a shudder.

“We’re not children, you know,” Merry said, very softly, his mouth close to Boromir’s ear.

“He’s right,” Pippin whispered, equally close. “We’re both of age to be chasing skirts, if we cared to. Just because we’re small doesn’t mean we’re not grown up.”

“And it doesn’t mean we don’t know what we’re up to,” Merry said, and Boromir felt him smile against his throat.

“And what are you up to?” he asked, swallowing hard.

He felt Merry’s lips against his throat , and Pippin’s on the other side under his ear. At the same time, Pippin’s hand had come up to stroke through the man’s drying hair, and Merry’s fingers were absently tangling in his beard.

“You must stop that, little ones…”

“Stop what?” Pippin asked innocently. “We’re just warming you up.”

“You’re getting much warmer,” Merry noted, before sliding a bit closer to close his lips over the still-cold tip of the man’s ear. “We’ll have found all the cold spots and tended to them soon enough.”

“I think I’m more than warm enough,” Boromir protested, his voice catching in his throat when Pippin licked lazily along his jaw.

“Not quite yet,” Merry said.

Boromir finally managed to mount a semi-coherent attempt to put a stop to this business, and he reached up to grab at the little hands that were now feeling curiously across his chest. He caught one small wrist in each hand, but could not manage to pull them away. He opened his eyes and looked down as Merry, with a knowing grin, raised the man’s hand to his mouth and wrapped his warm mouth around two work-roughened fingers.

The sudden heat sent an entirely unexpected jolt through him, and he gasped. Merry made a small, approving sound, and a moment later Pippin had his other hand and was sucking and licking at his fingers.

“Pippin’s got an amazing mouth,” Merry whispered.

“I… don’t…”

“Hush,” Merry said, moving back to lick at the man’s ear as Pippin continued what he was doing. “We’re just making you feel better, Boromir. We want to. You’ve been kind and good to us and you helped us and protected us. Why don’t you just let us please you and do nice things to you?”

Boromir signed and closed his eyes again. He’d had offers whispered in his ear before, but none as sincere and gentle as this one. Across the cave, he could just barely hear the occasional word as Aragorn and the others debated their next move. He remembered the suspicion, the wariness, the watchful uncertainty in their eyes when they looked at him. Now, as he opened his eyes and looked at the two hobbits curled up against him, all he saw in the two bright gazes was trust and amusement.

“I can’t…” he protested, but the surrender in his voice was obvious enough to draw pleased smiles from both of his tormenters.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Pippin said.

“Not a thing,” Merry agreed. “Just trust us.”

Boromir was not accustomed to trusting anyone. His father had trained him well. No one, though, had ever trained him for how to deal with such a disarming combination of sweetness and mischief.

“You can tell us to go away and leave you alone, if that’s what you want,” Merry murmured.

Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but he could not seem to manage any words.

“You were right, Merry,” Pippin said, nipping one of the man’s fingers.

“I’m always right,” Merry said.

 

The man, the wizard, the elf, and the dwarf remained lost in discussion, paying no attention to anything else. Sam continued quietly stirring his stew, waiting for the dried meat and vegetables to absorb enough liquid to be edible, and watching Frodo, who slept uneasily next to the fire, muttering in his slumber and clutching at the Ring beneath his shirt. The wind howled past the opening of the cave, but Boromir took no notice of it. He was quite warm, wrapped in the hobbits’ bedrolls and his own, with one small and very warm body tucked against each side of him.

“He’s got hair on his chest,” Pippin observed, stroking his fingers over the man’s skin.

“Not as much as Strider,” Merry said.

Boromir raised his head, suddenly struck with something that could almost be jealousy. “Why would you have seen that man with his clothes off?”

Pippin giggled. “Even Strider bathes occasionally, even if it doesn’t look like it.”

“The elf makes him, when he can’t stand the smell anymore,” Merry added.

Boromir chuckled, and realized how long it had been since he’d had cause to laugh. “Does nothing make you serious, little ones?”

“We’re only serious when we have to be,” Pippin said.

“I’ve never seen you be serious, little Pippin.”

“I’m being serious right now,” Pippin said, as his hand moved down to stroke through the traces of hair on the man’s belly, making him twitch.

“That tickles!”

“Is this better?” Merry asked, pressing his palm against the skin and sliding it slowly downward.

“Yes… no… don’t do that…”

Pippin winked at Merry, and both of them slid down the man’s body, their curly heads just poking out above the blankets. Boromir mumbled an incoherent protest and squirmed in a half-hearted attempt to escape, but his tormenters were having none of it. He felt his hands grasped by smaller ones and directed firmly to rest on what he suddenly realized were two sets of hobbit buttocks. He tried to jerk his hands away, but the blankets were wrapped snugly around the three of them, and both hobbits giggled and snuggled down into his hands.

“What…”

“Hush,” Merry said.

“It’s nice,” Pippin murmured, looking up at the man’s face. “Is that bad?”

Boromir struggled to think of an answer, but something seemed to have thoroughly scrambled his brain, and he found himself completely unable to think of a reason why, at this exact moment, he should not allow the four busy hands and warm little bodies to continue what they were up to.

“No,” he admitted quietly.

Merry grinned and planted a kiss on the bare skin of the man’s belly, and Pippin followed him, except that, as Boromir had begun to note, Merry’s kisses tended toward the quick and firm, while Pippin’s tended toward the lazily affectionate and seemed to involve extensive use of his tongue in the process.

“If it’s not so bad, you could participate a bit, you know,” Merry suggested.

Boromir growled in mock annoyance and gave a sharp squeeze with both hands. Pippin squeaked in surprise, and Merry gasped.

“Is that what you had in mind?” the man asked.

“That’s a good start,” Merry said, his voice slightly shaken.

Boromir could not resist the opportunity to get another squeak out of Pippin, so he squeezed again, this time more gently. Along with the desired noise from Pippin, he was also rewarded with what might have been a small moan from Merry, muffled against the man’s skin.

“For a while I was thinking you were just going to lay here like a log,” Pippin giggled. “It’s terribly funny when you growl, you know.”

“Little one, when I growl, grown men with swords go running away from me.”

Merry casually draped one leg over the man’s thigh. “Yes, but we’re not afraid of you.”

“Perhaps you should be,” he said, thinking for a moment of the distrust he had seen in the others’ eyes.

“What for?” Pippin asked, his fingers wandering along the waistband of the thin underclothes Boromir had been stripped to.

“Because I’m dangerous.”

“Not to us,” Merry said, his hand joining Pippin’s, but with more purpose, fingers sliding beneath the fabric.

“No? What makes you so sure?”

Merry grinned and reached lower, and Boromir jumped as his hand came to rest on the man’s hard length, which to his embarrassment twitched and hardened even further at the touch.

“Merry…” he protested.

Pippin looked startled as his hand followed Merry’s.

“Good lord, Merry! Did you know men had such…”

“Pippin, don’t be childish.”

“Well, they have such tiny feet…”

Boromir felt his face flushing but couldn’t resist the question. “So, since hobbits have such large feet for being such small creatures…”

He expected a giggling response from Pippin, but instead, Merry answered his question in a rather more direct way; he grasped the man’s wrist and let his hand to find out for himself. Boromir raised his eyebrows.

“Apparently what they say about large feet has some truth to it,” he said, clearing his throat.

Merry chuckled. “The lasses are often a bit surprised too, their first time.”

“They’d faint dead away if they saw this,” Pippin said, running his hand over Boromir’s cock through the fabric. The man squirmed.

“I don’t think you want to do that, little Pippin.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain I want to do it,” he said cheerfully.

Merry pulled himself back up to rest his head on the man’s shoulder.

“I told you,” he murmured. “We’re not children.”

He moved to plant a determined kiss on the man’s mouth. At first too startled to respond, Boromir found himself scrambling to think of the proper way to respond to such a thing, but more instinctual parts had usurped his brain, and he realized that almost without his consent, his hand was resting on a head full of curly hair, and a small but certain mouth was busy exploring, tugging at his lower lip. He dimly heard Pippin’s familiar giggle.

“Whatever you’re doing, Merry, you ought to keep doing it.”

Merry smiled against his mouth, and Boromir opened his eyes to find the older hobbit looking at him with a bright, knowing gaze.

“You like this,” he murmured.

Boromir could not manage any sort of denial. It had been a long time since anyone’s hands had touched him like this, and he wasn’t sure that he could remember anyone’s hands ever touching him with such curiosity and affection and amusement.

“Do you two make a habit of seducing men?” he managed to ask.

Merry laughed. “Other than Strider and the ones in Bree, you’re the only one we’ve even met.”

“And the ones in Bree were ugly,” Pippin added, his hand still stroking absently but confidently along the man’s cock through the fabric of his underclothes. “And Strider is…”

“Strider is not the topic of discussion,” Merry said briskly. Then, in a conversational tone to Boromir, “I did mention Pippin has an amazing mouth, didn’t I? Especially when it doesn’t have a bunch of foolishness coming out of it. Pip, why don’t you show him?”

Pippin snorted. “I hope you don’t think my mouth is amazing enough to get it around that…”

“Hush, Pippin, and do something useful,” Merry scolded.

Boromir met the bright blue eyes that were looking down at his face. “You seem to have a way of managing things, little one.”

“I’ve been known to be extremely persuasive,” Merry said.

“It seems…” Boromir began, but lost whatever he intended to say. Merry grinned down at Pippin, who had begun working the waist of the man’s underclothes down around his hips, exposing him to the younger hobbit’s appreciative gaze.

“Merry, would you look at…”

“Pip.”

“Do the women your size let you get near them with this thing?”

“Pip…”

“Well, I was just asking! It’s a reasonable question. I mean, maybe things work differently with men. Do you think they do… things, with other men, like…”

“ _Peregrin Took_!”

“ _What_?”

Merry kicked at him. “Be quiet. You’re interrupting.”

Pippin laughed. “We’ll see who’s interrupting.”

Merry looked toward Boromir. “Will you excuse me for a few moments? I do believe Pippin isn’t going to be able to behave properly until he’s been attended to.”

Pippin’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

“Just settle him down a bit. Otherwise he’ll just keep being obnoxious,” Merry said, addressing Boromir and ignoring Pippin. “Now, if you’ll just…”

He tugged at Boromir’s arm until the man realized what he wanted and rolled over onto his side, his broad back and shoulders blocking any curious looks, as Merry grabbed Pippin and rolled him over and pinned him down, one slender wrist in each hand. Pippin squirmed and exploded in giggles. Merry attempted a stern scowl.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Pippin glanced at Boromir. “What does he think you should do with me?”

Boromir swallowed uneasily, trying and failing to squash the ideas that flooded into his head. “I… should leave you two alone.”

“Oh, no,” Merry said firmly. “He’s very squirmy, you know. I think you ought to keep hold of him while I see to getting some of this silliness out of him.”

“Keep hold of…”

“You heard me. Trust me. It settles him right down. You’ll see.”

Pippin laughed and willingly slid back against the man’s chest.

“There. Now, keep hold of him,” Merry ordered.

Pippin giggled and twisted again, and Boromir realized that his foolishness was soon going to have Sam coming over to see what was going on , if not the elf and everyone else. He wrapped a muscular arm around Pippin and squeezed him against his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. True to Merry’s word, the younger hobbit immediately quieted, still shaking with the aftermath of his laughter, but made no attempt to get loose.

“That’s better,” Merry said.

It was _not_ better, Boromir thought, because now he had a barely clothed, very warm, very soft Pippin pressed very close to him, and his still-shifting behind was pushed up against his nether-regions in a very distressing fashion.

“Oi, Merry,” Pippin chuckled. “I seem to have something rather large and hard poking me.”

Merry rolled his eyes as he set about stripping Pippin of what little he was still wearing; most of his clothes were still drying by the fire.

“Did you just notice that now, Pip? You’re so clever.”

“Well, it’s a bit like sitting on a good-sized log…”

“Stop it. You’re going to frighten him away.”

Pippin looked up at the man, green eyes wide and trusting and full of mischief. “Are we terribly frightening, Captain Boromir?”

“I’ve fought every sort of beast that’s stepped out of Mordor since I was old enough to hold a sword,” the man said, his voice somewhat unsteady, “but I’m quite certain you two together are the most terrifying thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Why would we terrify you?” Pippin asked, amused.

“Because… I don’t think I can refuse you anything,” he murmured.

“That’s a bit frightening, at first,” Merry admitted, smiling fondly at Pippin. “Imagine how I felt when I realized that I couldn’t say no to this foolish creature… and I think he’d done it to me before he’d even learned to speak properly. I don’t know how he did it.”

Pippin laughed. “Everyone used to say I had Merry wrapped around my finger.”

Boromir sighed. “I don’t know that I’ve ever agreed to being wrapped around anyone’s finger.”

“Oh, it’s not something you agree to,” Merry said. “You don’t usually get any choice in the matter at all.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Boromir said, shaking his head. “You two…”

“There are far, far too many things people have said that have started with ‘you two’ and ended with us both getting a whack with the paddle from our mothers,” Pippin said.

“Or getting slapped by your sisters,” Merry added. “But let’s not get off topic, shall we?”                                                                                                                                   

 

Boromir glanced over his shoulder, worried that someone might be watching them, but the others were all lost in discussion, except Sam tending his stew and Frodo with equal attention and concern.

“You two…” he whispered. “Someone’s going to hear.”

“Not if you keep him quiet,” Merry said, grinning, and then his head disappeared below the edge of the blankets, and Pippin giggled and squirmed.

“Hush,” Boromir warned.

“I’m just… oh!”

The exclamation was rather loud, and Boromir clasped a hand over his mouth in alarm. He worried for a moment that he might have been too rough, but he could feel Pippin smiling against his palm.

“Might as well keep that hand there,” Merry’s muffled voice suggested.

Boromir could tell that Pippin really was trying to be somewhat quiet, but his giggling had stopped and his eyes had closed, and where Boromir held him against his chest he could feel him shaking. It wasn’t fair at all. He didn’t even need to know what Merry was doing to be tormented; it was equal or worse torture to have Pippin in his arms and have to feel his every reaction to it. Pippin whined and twisted against him, breathing fast, and his sharp, sudden exclamation was silenced in Boromir’s large hand. He went limp and still, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but Boromir wasn’t sure it was safe to let him go yet. He refused to allow himself the thought that he wasn’t sure he wanted to let him go, either.

After a moment, Merry popped back up, looking very pleased with himself. Pippin made a soft sound, and Merry laughed and nodded to Boromir.

“You can let him go now. He’ll behave for a bit.”

Pippin slumped contentedly with his head resting on Boromir’s arm, and he yawned.

“Oh, no,” Merry said firmly, prodding him with his finger. “It’s not sleep time yet, Pip. We must do something for our friend… you’ve got him all disturbed, and we should help him calm down so he can rest.”

Boromir flushed, betrayed by his own body; between Pippin’s reactions and imagining what Merry was doing to cause them, his cock was as hard as he thought it was possible to be, and he realized how desperately he needed to be touched, immediately.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Merry asked, smiling. “I don’t blame you. Pippin is lovely… especially when he can’t talk.”

Boromir had no words to answer this, because at the moment, Pippin _was_ lovely, sleepy and soft, with his bright eyes drifting closed, hair in disarray, and his sharp cheeks softened by shadows. And in truth, Merry was just as lovely, looking up at him with that piercing blue gaze, that soft, knowing smile, and the line of his jaw, which was so often set in stubborn defiance, lined in the light from the fire across the cave. Pippin often laughed at what he insisted was “the Brandybuck Scowl”, but at this moment there was only the smile and the quiet waiting.

“He is,” Boromir murmured, his mouth so dry that the words barely escaped it.

Merry’s eyes remained fixed on his face.

“What… what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice more unsteady than it had been in the face of any enemy.

“Ahh,” Merry said, and the corner of his mouth lifted into what was very nearly a smirk. “What do we want from you? Don’t you know?”

“No. What do you want?”

“Permission,” Merry said.

“I can’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” the older hobbit said, sliding closer. “You can just answer us like this.”

He leaned over Pippin’s shoulder and pressed a soft but thorough kiss to the man’s mouth. Boromir gasped, and Merry took the opportunity to let his tongue flick along the man’s lips, then nipping at him with his teeth. Knowing he should push Merry away and send them off to sleep, Boromir tried to tell him hands to comply, but instead he found his fingers running through the soft curls, his resistance crumbling. Merry felt it, and Boromir heard the small, triumphant hum against his lips.

Merry broke his kiss just long enough to glance down at the younger hobbit.

“Pippin.”

Pippin frowned. “I’m not managing that thing all by myself.”

“Hush, you idiot. I’ll be there to help you in a moment.”

Pippin laughed and disappeared under the blankets. Merry went back to what he was doing, finding Boromir returning the kiss not just without resistance, but with a sudden rush of heat and need, pulling Merry closer against him.

Merry knew what Pippin was doing when he felt the man’s entire body jerk with surprise, and his eyes flew open, looking at Merry with something like bewilderment.

“I think I’ll just give Pip a hand,” Merry said, giving a final lick at the man’s lip before ducking down under the blankets to join Pippin.

If the previous events had been torture, this was completely unbearable. Four busy hands and two very busy mouths, not very organized but with no lack of enthusiasm. Boromir wasn’t sure how long he could possibly stand it; this playful groping and handling was going to do nothing but drive him insane. He attempted to lay still and not squirm, afraid to draw the others’ attention to their darkened corner, but he found it impossible to keep still, and had to clench his jaw to bite back something that was somewhere between a pleading whimper and a frustrated growl.

“I think it’s going to take a bit of practice to coordinate this, Pip,” Merry said, chuckling, “and I’m not sure Boromir can handle us practicing on him tonight.”

Pippin’s grinning face and his hands popped out from under the blankets, grabbed one of Boromir’s hands, and tugged it downward.

“Why don’t you give us a hand?”

“That’s a terrible joke,” Merry scolded.

Boromir felt four hands pulling at his own, wrapping it around his length. Any patience or restraint he had left was entirely shattered at this point, especially with those four little hands still stroking and fondling. It took only a few rough tugs to take him over the edge, shuddering and stunned by the explosiveness of his release.

In the dizzy aftermath he heard Pippin say something that was probably very crude, and heard Merry swat him in reprimand, and then they were both busy for a moment attempting with only moderate success to tidy things up. Finally, their two heads emerged again, both grinning.

“Are you all right, Boromir?” Pippin asked.

“I’m not sure,” he groaned, rolling over onto his back and taking Merry with him, so that one hobbit was again tucked against each side of him. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Are you sure about that?” Merry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Boromir admitted.

Pippin yawned and stretched and settled down with his head on Boromir’s shoulder.

“Mmmm. I’m tired. We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we, Merry?”

Without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and started to doze off.

Boromir felt his own eyes beginning to drift closed, but he realized that Merry was awake beside him, still and quiet, but alert.

“You’ve had no... relief for yourself, have you?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Merry said.

“That doesn’t seem quite fair,” Boromir said.

Merry smiled. “It wouldn’t be the first time Pip’s dozed off and left me to manage myself.”

“That’s not very polite.”

“Oh? Do you have better manners, then?”

“I would hope so,” Boromir said, “since your cousin has no manners at all.”

As he spoke, his hand was reaching down, finding what he was looking for and enclosing it in his large, roughened hand. Merry made a small sound and pressed his face into the man’s shoulder.

“Was all of this your idea?” Boromir asked quietly.

“Of course. All of the good ideas are mine,” Merry answered, and then gasped as Boromir found things he could reach with various fingers.

“Why?”

“Why… oh… why what?”

“Why would you do this?”

“We… already told you. Because you’ve been kind… and good to us… and there never seems to be a time you’re… happy, unless you’re with us…”

“Since I left my brother, I don’t remember a time I was happy except with you two little creatures,” Boromir said softly.

“Well…” Merry said, grasping at Boromir’s shoulder as he attempted to keep his mind on what he was saying, “that’s why. Do you need a better reason?”

“No, little one. I don’t.”

Merry buried his face in Boromir’s shoulder to muffle another small sound, and he twisted, gasping, and then went very still, breathing hard.

“Merry?” he asked.

He received a contented hum in response, and then Merry was nestling himself against the man’s warm side, within the protective grasp of an arm that could swing a sword through an orc’s helmeted head, but now might have been holding something made of glass, as careful as his touch was.

“Mmph,” Merry said, looking up at him with those blue eyes. “You can squeeze us, you know. We like it.”

“Do you, then,” Boromir said, and squeezed them both closer, drawing two contented sighs.

“You won’t hurt us,” Merry said, yawning.

Boromir glanced over at Frodo, at his chest where he knew the Ring was hanging on its chain, waiting for him.

“I’m afraid I will, little one.”

“You won’t,” Merry said, with simple and complete confidence. “Go to sleep.”


End file.
